


Reprieve From The Inferno

by Slycmase



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Angst, In the Beginning, M/M, There are no words, Unrequited, bodyswap ok? later, ill add more characters as soon as i use em, is it a pun since tom is kinda, like seriously. what was i thinking, one-sided, plot heavy, so much pain, this is the start of an adventure, u see this shit???, what, what the hell's fluff?, with SLOW FUCKING BURN, words words words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slycmase/pseuds/Slycmase
Summary: If you had to give up someone to save them, would you do it?It didn't take Marco long to answer the question.





	1. Known Unknown

Marco Diaz does not frighten easily.

Not anymore.

Having lived through many reiterations of near death experiences has only improved his ability to survive; only, when it used to be his flight instinct urging him to flee to safety, it was now his fight instinct that helps him in his day to day basis of living with one of the most powerful wands in existence, and the princess who wielded it carelessly without abandon. A day never passes without destruction, or a learned lesson, or even a simple errand turned quest.

So for the record, Marco could honestly say his life does not need more excitement, thank you very much.

Aside from the odd (and usually destructive) adventures brought by his housemate, taking on more would be... too much for this human to handle. Would he be opposed to violence if the situation presented it? Nope. Does he consider all the unnatural disasters and conflicts as nuisances in his daily mundane life? Not really. But would he rather have a few days off in between? Definitely.

Which is why, if he didn't find himself blindfolded, gagged and tied to whatever hellish material he was sat at, he would've ranked this day as perfectly normal, counting the sentient sock incident from a few hours. Nothing like a Mackie Hand marathon, chomping down popcorn and drinking soda for a lazy day. Until he’d fallen asleep and woken up tied, of course.

It wasn’t the first time he had been captured, and it might not be the last. Although if he had to rate it, this one would be his least favorite. The unmistakable scent of soil drifted in every direction, and being unable to see was uncomfortable. His eyes were open, of course, but it was full darkness that greeted him instead. If he had to guess, someone thought it would be necessary to blindfold him. Why though, was somewhat puzzling. If he’d already been asleep when he’d been captured, wouldn’t the covering be ineffective?

Another thing that bothered him was the heat. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, plunked on a chair or whatever hard surface he was sat at, but it was enough time for his body to produce enough sweat to soak through the outside of his white tee and onto one of his identical red hoodie.

His tongue felt like sandpaper, and his throat was parched, his thirst nagging at the back of his mind which strengthened the longer he stayed in what felt like a giant oven.

Straining his ears, he could barely make out the soft swish and crunch of fine land- perhaps sand; and something or someone pacing heavily in the near vicinity.

Careful not to make noise, he urged both legs to move. He jerked his arms forward, only to be met with a tight grip from whatever held him to his seat. The pacing from the distance grew to a halt. Eyes wide open in the darkness, Marco waited with bated breath. Crunch, swish, crunch went his unknown abductor, their steps slow and even as if taunting him. The noises drew closer. Marco's heart pounded as the suspense made him want to claw at his insides, though whether it was his flight instinct that filled him or his terror was up for debate.

"Oh, you're awake." His abductor said smoothly. The voice, a combination of suave and nonchalant, was familiar.

A warm feeling spread on both sides of his face, and the blindfold and gag melted away without leaving a trace. "Seriously?! You couldn't just call?"

With the initial brush of the soft heat that removed most of his obstruction, the dim, earthy walls of the underworld did not surprise him.

His captor in question stood pale in terms of purple, bright pink hair in disarray as if he had combed his hand through it multiple times. The ripped shirt and dark pants was the same as ever, but in place of the demon's normally cool assessing gaze was the mark of a tired man.

The demon's sunken eyes watched Marco, mouth gaping once or twice in resemblance to a fish, lost to an answer that never came.

Finally Marco had enough and gave a groan of frustration. "What now?"

Tom pursed his lips for another moment before speaking. "I need your help." It came out in a monotone, as if he'd practiced on how to not sound desperate.

"And tying me up is necessary?" Marco wriggled his hands against the binds in a blatant show of disapproval. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have some weird kink you need to work out. But maybe not on me."

The demon's eyes flashed white for a moment. "This is serious. Look, are you in or not?" The glare vanished and his pupils gained visibility again- but it only made the tiredness in them more imminent.

The same indignation flashed in Marco. "You're the one asking for my help. Maybe if you tell me what's happening," his eyes traced the torn scrolls and random books scattered around the floor, "and treat me like a person, I'll take you seriously. And can you let me go?!"

Tom rolled all eyes, then walked over to a near chair. Without a glance, he gave a single snap, and flames rose from nowhere and ate up the ropes holding the human.

Marco yelped as the heat caressed his extremities in passing, but breathed a sigh when all proved clear of injury. With a glance to his feet (you can never be too safe, really) and begrudging thoughts of approval, he faced his demon frienemie again.

Only to be faced with Tom practically sprawled on the poor chair.

Although he was technically free, Marco made no move to stand up. He eyed the demon warily.

The demon propped his head upright by resting his hands on his cheeks, and Marco got the sudden impression that Tom might fall over in a few minute if their conversation dragged on.

"Ready to listen?" Tom paused to yawn, then peered at the human through half-lidded eyes. "Or are you still butt hurt that I took you, unharmed, to a safe place where you can exit anytime?"

"You got me tied up literally a few seconds ago," Marco snapped, but the demon didn't notice as he was busy with another yawn, "and it wouldn't kill you to apologize.”

Their eyes locked in a standstill, daring the other to look away, the demon then blinking as he noticed the other's expression. "Fine," Tom drawled. "Sorry that you always make it so easy for someone to capture you."

"Not what I want, but the effort is appreciated." Marco said quickly. The tell tale signs of a lecture seemed to follow, which he hoped to prevent, but Tom was already on a roll.

"Do you even have any defenses? Or at least wards outside your house?" The demon asked in a tone that implied all humans are stupid and beneath him.

Or Marco simply assumed the worst. He rolled his eyes. "Stop. You can shut up now."

"Tell you what, help me track down this... weird entity that's messing up with the flow of magic here, and I'll even teach you how to protect yourself. There's no way even you can mess up a few runes, so maybe I'll start with that.." He trailed off.

"I don't need you to do me any favor. How do I know you won't be using this opportunity to get closer to Star?"

Tom looked at him oddly. "Not everything I do is for Starship, you know."

"Blood moon ball? Mr. Candle?" The human said, unimpressed. "I could go on. You're not exactly the most trustworthy person here."

"I could be trustworthy if I wanted to." Tom grumbled. "And I can be decent. To humans. If that wasn't clear.”

'Yes' equaled to easy. 'Yes' equaled trust. Tom didn't have the cleanest record when it came to dealing with Marco. Always angry. Controlling to a fault.

Yet Marco hesitated. Then again, this was the guy who disciplined himself when challenged. He admitted to having a problem, and while many would balk trying to do that simple confession, Tom took it a step farther and got himself help to improve. Still not the best person, but one who would swallow his pride to... for the one he...

"If I agree to help you," Marco took a deep breath, "Could you pretend that I'm Star?"

Tom blinked in a quick succession as if he couldn't believe what the other had said.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

And busted out laughing.

Marco, offended, felt his cheeks flush warm. "What?" The sudden rise of his voice did not help his fluster fade.

"Now who's got some issues to work out?" The words seemed involuntary, even as the demon choked on a laugh. The demon covered his mouth with arms encircling his front, but to no avail. Marco could clearly see he was shaking with laughter.

"Tom!" He tried, he really did. But instead of his voice sounding like a reprimand, it came out as an embarrassed whine. As it seemed that the demon had no intention of stopping, Marco grumbled to himself along the lines of, "where's the freaking exit?" Then turned to leave.

"Wait!" Tom forced out; his amusement fading to a mischievous glint in his eyes and a suppressed smile; lips pressed tightly together. "I'll apologize!"

"I stand by my demand."

The demon still looked too happy for his mood to be a coincidence. "Ah, so it's a demand now?"

"Are you aware that I usually come to court Star? Or maybe you do want me to come serenade you with a bouquet of flowers," The demon said.

"That's not what I meant! Couldn't you just pretend that maybe we don't hate each other?”

"Well it is ridiculous." Tom said. "Wait I changed my mind, its actually stupid-"

"Make fun all you want-"

"-Gladly" The demon interrupted.

"Tom!" Marco closed his eyes and took a calming breath. When he opened his eyes again, the demon did not seem to be at all bothered, or aware that Marco was seriously reaching his limit. "If I have to work with you, I don't want to be worrying that you'll melt my face off every few minutes. So treat me as you would Star. Not like the weird worship you do with her," Tom looked as if he wants to interrupt but Marco silenced him with a glare. "But you know. Maybe not plan my murder in every possible chance? Or at least restrain yourself from wanting to burn me into a crisp?"

Tom looked on with a blank stare, but at least the mocking was gone. Marco wondered what he was thinking.

Then Tom blinked, eyes turning to Marco with surprising intensity. "That's not unreasonable... So I guess you'll help me?"

Marco managed a faint smile, filing the other's focused, unnerving stare at the back of his mind to be forgotten. "Yeah."

The demon stood up suddenly, almost falling over in the process, to grab something. "Here." He tossed something- a stick? To the human.

Reflexively, Marco caught it in the palm of his hands. A rose?

Tom shrugged, leaning by a wall. "Even if we're faking, might as well do it right." And with that, the petals spouted flames, illuminating the unamused expression on Marco's face.


	2. In the Dark

Marco didn't expect to be ambushed as soon as he got home, especially in the comfort of his room. Then again, most people don't get blasted in the face with sea creatures conjured by magic.

His first objective upon returning home had been to take a shower and possibly lie in his bed and contemplate his place in the world. Simple enough, except for the part that the princess of all things erratic decided to Narwhal blast him before he even got the chance to flop down on his much comfortable bed. Marco fell to the ground with a surprised yelp, face-down on his barely cleaned carpet.

"Intruder!" Her voice edged on both lividness and guard, although why he had no idea. The fact that he hadn't known the princess would be around only added to his surprise.

"It's me," He croaked. He realized he was still obscured by his bed. He raised a foot for proof. "I surrender. Do not attack."

"Marco!" She shouted with her usual high pitched worry. She vaulted over the bed and pulled him to his feet, in a very tight hug. He made no plan to move, yet wondered if it was possible that he might crushed by pure affection. "I thought something happened to you! You were gone for hours." She pulled away from the one sided embrace and searched his face for answers.

Marco didn't ask why she knew, as the princess wasn't even supposed to be on Earth in the first place. Despite her promises to become more compliant to her training before taking on her legacy, she would often sneak out and crash with them for a weekend, never taking more than two days away from her kingdom at a time.

"I can take care of myself, you know." He gave a reassuring smile, then allowed himself to sit on the bed. The princess did not look convinced. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her usual tell tale mark of doubt.

"Where were you? Mr. and Mrs. Diaz had no idea, so I didn’t tip them off in my suspicions. There were scorch marks near your door, then I find someone waltzing in your room." Star looked like she wants to say more, but held off.

Marco chose that opportunity to let his head hit his pillow. "I was talking… with Tom," he added as an afterthought.

"Let me guess, you fought him as he tried to sacrifice you?"

"What?"

"What, he never tried to kill you? Like some lame battle to the death thingy? Tom does not invite people. He drops in unannounced, or brings people to his lair." She deduced, wand twirling in her hand.

When Marco looked surprised, she continued. "I'm the master of detective work! Well, that and we were an item. Unplanned outings were our thing. And the occasional abduction."

He knew it wasn’t what she meant. "You guys went to space?" He joked, "Met any aliens?"

"Once or twice, but that's not the point." She answered, dead serious. "What did he want?" She flopped down beside him, legs dangling over the side of his bed.

"I thought you want nothing to do with him?" Marco crossed his arms, as his eyes traced the cobwebs in his ceiling.

"Yeah, but that was before he decided to take my bestie." Her voice turned a bit more aggressive. "Tom does not have friends. He has allies, partners, enemies, sure. He's either using you, or needs you. Which one is it?"

"Well for starters, he didn't exactly try to kill me. You were right on the kidnapping, though." The princess pointed at him with finger guns, smiling all the way. "I'm surprised you're taking this so calmly."

"He's harmless. Most of the time. Just, don't make any deals with him unless you're prepared to spend the rest of your life completing your contract." She suddenly jumped up, leaving bed creases in her wake. "What did you guys talked about, anyway?"

Marco felt compelled to lie. "Just some random stuff."

Star leveled with him. "You made a contract with him." It did not felt like an accusation to Marco. More like a statement of fact. "You agreed to something. Not a concrete plan, but close. You offered him your support in some sort of predicament."

Marco swallowed unconsciously. "Did you learn to read minds when I was gone?"

Star's redden cheeks only confirmed her guilt. "You may or may not have left your phone open in a call..."

"You were eavesdropping!"

"You gave me a booty call!"

"Its butt dial, and I was tied up in the moment!" Marco took a deep breath and forced his voice to stop shouting. "I don't see the big deal. It was a request, he asked me for help, and I did put my own conditions in..."

She gave him a look.

"Wait, I didn't even have my phone!"

She diverted his attention. "Marco! Demon contracts are sacred!" She emphasized each word by hitting Marco with her wand each time she spoke. "Congratulations! As of until the day that your terms or agreement is over, you guys are basically married!"

Marco hurried to cover himself, taking refuge underneath his pillow. "That's not-"

"Sacred!" She shouted, awfully determined to make a simple agreement a bigger deal. "That's how they get to you! Roses then gifts then flattery, then promises! In not that order! With farce courtship!"

"Basing from experience, are you?" Marco threw back. "It's not like we'll be roleplaying the domestic life of Mr. and Mrs. Lucitor. I really don't see what's the big deal with agreeing to maybe lend a hand to whatever's bothering him."

"You don't even know what's he's searching for."

"Maybe."

"Sweet, sweet, Marco."

He rolled his eyes at the condescension, but laughed at the familiarity nonetheless.

She proceeded to go on a rant on the ins and outs of demonic dealing. "Remember! Handing your soul is a sure way to-"

"-there is a caste system, I think? Either way, I wouldn't say it's exactly matriarchal-"

"-demons don't need materials to channel their magic. So no wands. Just spells and a lot of inherent power-"

Only half-listening, Marco idly sighed and took in the voice of his closest friend. He clasped her hand in his, and failed to notice the sudden break in her speech. She returned back to her lesson, ignoring the effect of the human on her pulse like always. Marco, not sensing anything wrong or different, reveled in the small comfort of having the princess here, with him, at that moment.

Like old times.

Only... it shouldn't be.

His grip grew tight. She noticed.

An uncomfortable silence crept unto them like an invisible fog.

“Star?” It didn’t feel like an interruption, especially when the princess immediately turned to his voice. “What happened?”

"Still not a mind reader, Marco." She forced a laugh, the hollowness awkward to both of them.

He elaborated. “You just left." His eyes softened, and willed the truth of her disappearance.

Yet she removed her hand from his, and shrank back. “I had to go home eventually. Mewni… I have responsibilities and-”

"That's what you said last time." He tried not to sound accusing and failed. "Star?"

She stared at the ground, hands strangely still.

“You could’ve said goodbye.”

She didn't reply.

"You could've given a warning." He leaned close, and caught a glimpse at her expression.

Her face revealed her to be distraught. Her eyes snapped to his, the usual cheer in her blue orbs out of place. Too long did the two stared. Her heart made itself known with the faster thump-thump-thump as her cheeks burned.

Finally Marco broke contact and looked away. “I thought you’d never come back,” he said, voice cracked.

She straightened, still not facing him. As much as she once denied being like her mom, her features sculpted into an unmoving portrait of royalty, the unmistakable spitting image of Queen Moon.

Star forced her mouth to form the words, habit masking her inner turmoil. "Why now?" It struck her fast how she didn't want to leave. Not now, maybe then. Yet she couldn't say what could placate him. __I can leave, if me being back bothers you.__  She couldn't. Not when he could say yes and agree.  _ _I shouldn’t have come back when I’ve hurt you guys before.__

“Why not?” he could only counter. He didn’t know where the sudden confidence and curiosity came from. He didn’t voice out the dark, pestering thoughts he kept in moments of utter frustration.

"I can't." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Drop it, Marco. Please."

It didn't feel like an order. Then again, it never did. Marco would get dragged to ridiculous situations at the princess's whims, but it wasn't like Marco wasn't allowed to voice out his protest. Despite probably being way out of his rank or caste, Marco never felt like the other controlled him. So he obeyed, not because of her status, but her plea.

“I couldn’t stay here forever.” Yet an underlying sense of wistfulness betrayed her words. Why pretend to like plain old Earth than the countless other dimensions of the multiverse?

He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. Questions buzzed in his skull, all turned somber when he saw the underlying pain in her expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

He jumped up and headed downstairs, not bothering to know if the princess heard his apology. She was right. It took him too long to ask.

But it doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve the answer. Not just to satiate his curiosity, but for his peace of mind.

Was it delaying the conversation, when they never thought to have one at all?

Marco fled, but it did not stop the onslaught of memories that hid blissfully inside, emotions poured out.

 

She had her hair up, with a dress typical of a teenager. Appeared not from the air, but with a respectful knock at the front door, a soft smile at her lips. Three months missing only to appear, in one piece, unharmed to boot.

His parents had been so ecstatic. Her presence had been enough to heal any wounds left in her absence, and Marco had been too relieved to question it. No painful tears were shed that day.

Just like a good little safe kid, he didn't wonder the reason for her abrupt disappearance. Of course she needed to come back- Mewni was her home, a stead she needed to rule. He accepted the flimsy excuse of being needed at her home dimension, the small doubts shoved deep within, never needed a reason to resurface.

Only until he had been the one being questioned for his actions that it felt right to ask.

He walked past the old corridor, the closed doors reminiscent of the lost turret room. She never did conjure up her old room, not even when she made it clear she would visit from time to time. Perhaps a reminder not to get too attached again.

He brushed away the memory of his mother pretending not to wait for her arrival at the smaller room. How he'd wanted to shake her until she understood, __they'd been left, abandoned, without a measly goodbye__. For weeks, he'd pretend not to notice how conversation with his parents weren't stilted, no cheer to speak of, as if afraid of triggering something.

He'd wanted answer, any assurance that she was alive. There had been none. Just a few scorch marks to remind of her existence in their home, the memories they've clung to.

The first few days were spent in a panic, searching for the princess who disappeared without a trace. He had nothing to continue the search outside of Earth, dimensional scissors gone in her absence.

When she was gone, __too clean__ , Marco would think. Not a sock out of place, no puppies burning holes all around. House too empty, the silence suffocating even with his Father's old stereo attempted to fill the void.

When she was gone, school became a place to daydream. Former enthusiasm to ace his classes dwindled to barely doing school works. It took him weeks on adjusting to the absence of his friend by his side, promptly earning the label of loner in school. Not because everyone ignored him, per se. But him closed off and not replying back to people's attempts on friendly conversation.

Life passed him in a blur, noting nothing in particular.

It would've continued that way if not the constant, and annoying intrusion of his former friend Ferguson and Alfonzo.

In the hallways. "Have you seen the newest episode of Kitty Kitty Mew Mew? It was life-changing. I cried like, five times." Ferguson would barge in with a random topic. Alfonzo would parrot his topic with comments or animal noises. In this case, with meows.

And Marco would brush them off. "I don't watch much of anything anymore," he immediately closed his locker and headed off to their classroom.

During recess, "Hey Marco! Did you know that Love Sentence is back together? Alfonzo here got their new album. Want to hear?"

"I'd rather not..."

Free time, with Alfonzo taking the lead. "AI will be sentient in the future. Do you think they'll take over or destroy humanity?"

Marco would give him a look and back away.

Day after day, until it felt weird when they weren't there to intrude.

At the cafeteria, Ferguson would take a seat in Marco's space, disregarding any other vacant tables with Alfonzo in tow. "Hey dude, could you translate this particularly obscure Spanish Phrase?" Which could've been a big hint, as Marco knew Ferguson had no trouble with the language, despite his horrible pronouncation. This would snap Marco into longer response, surprising himself with his own laugh, deep into the conversation.

Little by little, Marco found himself responding more.

Alfonzo would wail, "Why is anime banned? I don't have a backup topic."

Ferguson would pat him. "How about you?" He turned to Marco. "What are you planning as topic for the movie essay? Because I don't think I could make mine about Kitty Kitty Mew Mew after last time." he stared into the distance as if he wanted the wind to blow dramatically through his hair.

"I haven't really decided yet." Marco replied automatically. Then added, a bit hesitant, "I have a couple ideas, though..."

It became his new normal, hanging out with the two at school as if they'd never been apart. He regained his passion of studies, even competed with Ferg in several subjects, or helped Alfonzo with surprising hatred for mathematics.

It lingered in his mind, why they wanted to talk to him in the first place. With a particularly persistent Ferguson asking him to hang out with them outside of school, and not taking the hint when he'd excuse time and time again, he said in agitation, "Why are you guys even trying with me? I haven't been a friend to you guys in a long time..."

Alfonzo said simply, "You've always been our friend, Marco."

Marco absolutely did __not__  tear up.

Marco laughed with relief, he talked with pleasure, with a humbled silent thanks whenever the two appeared as a reminder to how much he'd missed being part of something. The loneliness and longing that festered inside him, gone.

It had been inevitable, for Alfonzo to ask them to hang out at his house to show off some action figure that Marco wouldn't remember at the present. A surprise it came to the two when Marco agreed. They dragged him along, chatting about shows and games, while Marco half-heartedly listened. He did, however, found out that he could still beat the two in a cart racing game, to which the others claim he'd cheat. He'd laugh, neither refuting nor admitting to the claims, and simply play.

Just like how storm clouds could immediately follow the sweetest summer breeze, he didn't realize how fast time has come and gone. He went home late.

Only to find his mother close to tears as he arrived.

He could still remember being confused as his mother hugged him as if she'd never get the chance again.

"Where were you?" Her voice leaned towards loud, but never aggressive.

Tongue tied, he could only reply with, "I was with friends." An unspoken, __people would normally come home late without thinking it’s an issue, hung in the air.__

"Right." His mother said. Her hands fell from his sides, almost ashamed. "We- remember to call next time." Her authoritarian tone could've been believable if not for the quiver in her voice, with genuine fear leaked in.

And Marco never forgot. He initiated another hug, not knowing if it was for his benefit or his mother's. Heavy footsteps made the two look up.

His father came to the scene to with a phone. "Should I call the police? What should we-" His expression said it all, and he rushed forward to hug him.

His strong, loving father reduced to tears. Marco patted his arm, and soaked in the first feeling of warmth he'd had in their house in a long time. He sighed in contentment. "Dad, I'm fine. I was just with my friends." He hoped it came out reassuring.

"I'm not leaving." Marco had said.

There were still a lot of things in between, but Marco could only remember the parts filled with confusion, longing, and adjustment. From hoping she'd return... to the acceptance of the reality that life goes on.

 

 

“Marco?” He snapped out of his thoughts.

Marco looked up and pushed the memories away. He shook his head, and focused on the present, noticing that he'd been standing below the stairs for far too long.

His mother stared at him warmly.

"Could you ask if Star's staying for dinner? I made pasta."

"Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this is fanfiction. let me have my fun.
> 
> Take this chapter away from me. It's been too long. Clarification, this is canon- divergent and would follow a weird path I laid out. True to canon is Star stayed with them, but diverting is she disappeared for three months only to appear back, but not to return. Why am I staking a wedge in their relationship? well... [redacted]
> 
> Also: How the fuck do I transition. this fic is a learning curve for me, I will finish this even if it takes me for fucking ever, in the meantime, please enjoy my mediocre writing skills


	3. Missing Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco learns that Tom is more than tolerable.

Marco fought.

His hoodie was nowhere to be found.

There was only him, in the room, fighting a plastic mechanical soldier with no weakness in sight.

His arm felt heavy- the adrenaline already rushed off to who knows where. His own body rioted against his idea of physical exertion as he panted, longer and longer each time to catch his breath, yet he couldn't fight the smile that broke out in his face. The soldier was close, and waiting, but Marco was ready. He rushed and slid to the side as the soldier swung its sword above Marco's head. Out of sight, he kicked the green plastic of the mechanical soldier, and off it went, pushed to just a few centimeters prior. It didn't even stumble.

It turned easily, not phased. The soldier parried his sword, and Marco matched it. Their swords clanged once, twice, an ambiance of metals that rang into the underground cave. Shadows followed their dance in the barely lit room, torches in the sides that Marco was careful not to go near- he'd lost too many shirts that way.

His sword, forged from the metal unlike anything on Earth, made its presence more known at each pant that Marco expelled. He was tired, but not tired enough to ask for help for what could be a smug I-told-you-so from his demonic friend. So he struck, and slashed his way and stabbed, but his sword only bounced off the material of the plasticy soldier. Sweat has plastered his hair all over his face, while the plastic warrior didn't looked any worse for wear, if anything, it advanced the same way when he'd first activated it.

He was at a disadvantage- for the most part. On one hand, the soldier was made out of some impenetrable substance. It limited it's movements, and couldn't run. On the other hand, Marco could dodge and swing all he wanted, but still couldn't graze it. Stalemate, Ferguson would've called it, where both sides were unable to do the other harm.

Marco dodged. His enemy's sword was dangerously too close and he didn't have the upper hand. Having to dodge and reel back made something curl into the pit of his stomach. Even in the vast expense of the room, even with the slow fluidity of his enemy's strides, his heart pounded- and it wasn't from the exercise.

He huffed. Then advanced. With renewed vigor and inner promises of Mackie Hand marathon when everything is over, he struck- completely forgetting about the small insignificant fact of his sword not having any effect on the soldier's skin. His sword only slid on the bare body of the soldier, while it finally got a hit on him. A sting shocked his body and he gasped as the sensation burned. A loud noise resounded from all around him, and he blinked away a tear.

Marco fell to the ground, clutching his arm. A sticky substance spilled from where his hand pressed. In front of him, the soldier strode forward. Marco thought to reach for his sword, but his head lurched at the thought of removing the only thing that kept him from bleeding profusely. The soldier took another step, and Marco inched himself back.

Just when he thought that he could afford to lose blood in favor of spending a few moments more alive due to the advancing Toy Story's rejected animatronic, the soldier burst spontaneously on fire and in walked in a demon that's more bored than worried. 

The two locked eyes for a moment, then the demon gave him a look of utter smugness. Marco groaned.

"I knew you were sneaking out to fight this thing." Tom announced, finally reaching the robot and kicking it for good measure.

Marco would shrug- but then he would probably make his injury worse. "You know, it's customary in Earth not to make fun of wounded."

Tom flashed him a grin. "Good thing we're not on Earth, then." He offered a hand up to the human, who only shook his head.

"I can walk. I think," he mumbled by the end. Careful not to jostle anything, Marco stood up slowly and took a step forward, and promptly fell forward.

Tom caught him on his descent down to the floor. Marco hissed in pain. "It didn't go through. It's just a slice. I'm fine. I just need to cover it with..." He leaned his weight onto the demon. The electrical sensation didn't leave even when the sword had luckily, not cut his entire arm off. But the feeling still resonated, and if anything, it got worse. Marco bit his lip as nausea rose in him. Should he be standing? Could he still walk? Questions swirled around his brain but his body refused to participate.

Marco fought off the dizziness and walked it off. But the moment he stepped out of the demon's hold, small rocks dug into his knees. He was aware that he'd fallen, and he wanted his body to move, but it wouldn't obey. He could hear voices, but nothing registered on his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, then he was floating.

"I told you not to fight with the plastic soldier." Tom sounded resigned.

Marco mumbled a response. Warmth that swayed him was then replaced by softness at his back, sat on an unfamiliar bed. Tom propped up his arm on a mountain of pillows, before muttering, "Don't move."

Marco was happy to oblige. Footsteps went and gone while he rode out the pins and needles, up to the numbness in his arm.

"You can let go now." Something tugged at his hand, which made him realize the deathly grip he had on his arm. Iron assaulted his nose once more, but there was something more, smooth cloth wound up and around him.

When Marco opened his eyes, his left arm was already bandaged, courtesy of one nonchalant friend.

"Well, there's a laceration. You should add more cloth if it bleeds through. Just keep it above your heart for a while, I'm should get something to heal that." He stared at Marco intently. "Unless you feel faint? You're sweating too much and I think you should lay your head on your knees and-"

Marco's mind drifted out of focus but he managed to stay in the present. He licked his lips and let out a ragged breath. "I didn't know you knew anything about human anatomy."

"I don't."

Marco checked if his muddled mind caused the hallucination. Yet the bandage was there, holding up and clean. "You just spontaneously learned the ability to what, diagnose human condition?"

"Let it go, Diaz." Tom's brows took an effort to remain relaxed, and he sighed. His words creeped into a mumble. "I didn't know anything. I, ah, learned. First aid."

"Why?" Marco fought against the heaviness in his mind.

"We both know I'm not the safest person around." Tom's words rang with a sense of finality. A wall of flames burst out of the ground, and the demon stepped through without looking back.

Marco stared where the demon disappeared for far too long. He didn't know if it was the shock- or his body's natural ability to numb, but even with his knowledge on how his arm had burned while only being a cut, he didn't feel anything now.

He wondered. With nothing to occupy him, thoughts raced in his mind with no intention of stopping.

__Thoughtful__. Tom was surprisingly thoughtful. It was a word that Marco never knew he could associate with the demon. It took him a moment to put a word to his feeling, especially when everything felt muddled with shock. But he realized he was oddly touched.

With that, Marco yawned. He wasn't aware when he dozed off, but he woke up to smooth, soft strokes in his hair. The hand stilled as soon as Marco opened his eyes, slowly, unfocused, until he clearly saw the deep, dark hue of crimson from the other's eyes. Tom ruffled his hair once more before standing up. "Good. I wasn't sure if this would work if your body wasn't aware enough to heal." He triumphantly held up a bottle.

"It'll be quick. Don't squirm." He quickly undid the bandage he made to stop the blood leakage, and while Marco had a small bout of panic, he restrained himself and waited.

Tom tilted back the odd glass and poured a clear liquid, one that seemed to pierce within the skin of the wound. Marco shivered. He counted in his head as the coldness didn't falter.

'fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen..."

The pulls, pinch and cold, was logically only a few seconds deep, but it felt longer when the chilling sensation finally faded into nothing and the cloud in Marco's head cleared.

Slowly, cautiously, Marco flexed his arm. He clenched his fingers and mimed playing his electric keyboard, then raised it above then below. When no pain registered, he breathed out, "It didn't even scar."

Tom looked pleased for a moment, then twisted his features into something more accusing. "You're still an idiot. I told you not to. It's not a toy, you know. I bet you don't know the first thing about swordplay."

"Sure I do!"

"You never had lessons! Do you even know how to use a sword properly?"

"I have common sense. Just slice with the sharp end."

Tom let out a sound of frustration. He blinked, then didn't open all eyes for a moment. After a particularly long sigh, he said, "Fight me."

Marco's expression morphed into something akin to regret. "What?"

"Unless you're lying and don't really know how to..."

"Well, I just got back from injury!"

"It's healed now, isn't it? If you can fight, you will. Common sense, you said? Then prove that you could slice me with the sharp end."

Marco snapped his mouth shut as he realized he didn't have anything more on his sleeve. He thought back and remembered why he was there in the first place. "Aren't I supposed to help you transcribe the old tablet you got from your archive?"

"Aren't you not supposed to fight the plastic soldier?" The demon shot back.

"...You're never letting that go, aren't you?"

Tom rolled his eyes, the heat from his gaze unfading. At the very least, he seemed to be willing to drop the subject. He then gestured to a small pile at Marco's side. "Eat. I hear they're good for blood loss. I'm gonna get you water." He stood, once more, once again.

Marco realized the other was letting him off the hook."Hey Tom?"

The demon paused, expectant.

Marco fiddled with the fruit he'd grabbed. "Thanks. Not just for the oranges. You're actually a pretty good guy."

If Tom was surprised at the sentiment, he didn't show it. He did purse his lips before answering, "We had a deal, remember? I'm supposed to take care of you in the meantime. Like I would do to Star. I'm just doing my best. You don't need to thank me." He left.

Disappointment settled heavily at Marco's chest. He didn't have time to figure out why, as the demon didn't waste time on his return.

Marco accepted the bottle wordlessly and drank. It was refreshing, and he finished it all in a few gulps. He didn't feel satisfied, like there was still something inside him that was breaking, but his throat was no longer parched. It was a start. "I'll get started on the translation again."

He didn't watch the other's expression unlike normal. What's the point? Marco flexed his fingers in anticipation of writing. The process wasn't difficult- it was dull, but Marco figured he'd had too much excitement for the day. "Let's go back to the study."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ALIVEEE LOOK AT THAT!!!! The next chapter's probably my favorite... but i'll still need to edit it. STILL ON THE STREAK OF FINISHING THIS TO THE END, WHILE ALSO TWEAKING THE OUTLINE FOR THE MILLIONTH TIME. thank you to everyone who's following so far, your interactions give me life.


	4. Transcend

As Marco once again grabbed the thin stone carving, his mind slumped in dissatisfaction.

No wonder Tom wanted his help. Translating the old tablet wasn’t in any means difficult, but it could be mind numbingly dull. He sighed, his head once again filled with leading resistance as he remained unproductive.

To his left, soft swishes of paper grated his ears like the tick-tick-tick of a clock. But no, there was only him and the demon, the other being obnoxiously busy. Marco leaned back to the soft velvet of his chair and stretched both his arms, where he reveled in the normality of his left one, the skin unmarred despite being being slashed open hours ago.

Even now, he could’ve sworn a flash of pain remained, the sensation of burning as the confines of his skin was torn- although logically he knew nothing was there anymore.

It was easy to refer to his actions as stupid, and maybe it was. Too impulsive for his usual, and he knew he really should be doing the one thing that Tom asked him to. But he was in too deep now, lost in his own mind as he tried to figure out the _whys._  

There, in the back of his mind and nearly forgotten, was the culmination of days that led to his injury, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

After a particularly difficult moment of him rolling off the guilt as he watched his parent's smiles grew smaller as he announced he was going to help the demon for the third weekend in a row, his shoulders felt too heavy, an invisible weight settled with the thought of their worry.

He needed something to forget, something that he could recall passing on the way to the study, something he knew would waste both time and energy, something that would take away the thoughts.

It was then that Marco sneaked off from the study and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. He parried, and stepped, but ultimately got sliced open.

Now, as he faced off with his puzzle once more- the stone tablet that grew increasingly heavier in its disuse, that he is one again free to run through his thoughts. Back to the starting point he’d been hoping to avoid.

He wondered, as the runes in front of him barely gave him any hint as to how he ever could decipher it, why it was relief he felt when he'd gone with the demon that day, relief when he left his genuinely concerned and loving parents.

The lack of paper as it ran through the air made Marco look.

Tom rolled up that one scroll he'd worked on for weeks.

There was a sense of finality at the gesture, and Marco heard himself say, "Where are you going? We just got here..."

Tom stared at him for a moment before sighing. "This is important, Marco. I need to do something.”

The demon turned his back towards him. Marco knew he wasn’t angry. Right?

"You can come too. I've finished reading the reports of the citizens. Craters spontaneously appearing, low level pyromaniacs losing their powers slowly, reports on break ins on houses but not taking anything: it doesn't add up.”

He smoothed out the grimace of his face as he exhaled. “I need to know out if this has happened before. So no more looking into magic drains." He kicked one of the many crumpled papers on the floor.

"It's time to see if history's repeated itself." He said at last, with a determined look in his eyes.

* * *

The two stepped inside to one of the more rarely visited part of Lucitor Palace, which stood empty except for a stairwell that encircled the walls. The two walked up for a change, considering it was the Underworld, climbing higher and higher on the stone stairs, lightened only by the soft trail of flame that Tom led.

The walls were bare- apart from the door they came through, nothing out of the ordinary in sight. It was about the first time that Marco had ever seen a place in the underworld that's unbearably dark. Even with the small lights, shadows danced behind him, as Marco stomped up the stairs feeling up the granite by his feet lightly.

"There's trick steps there, I don't remember where exactly, but keep a look out for that."

One wrong step, a fall to the side, and he'd be no more. He stuck closer to the demon unconsciously. "You guys don't happen to have elevators?" Marco said, almost dryly.

"What for?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “ _Some_  of us can fly." He levitated a few inches off the ground, facing him as he floated higher, keeping up with the human's pace easily. A sly grin overtook the demon's face. "I could carry you."

"Pass."

The demon shrugged, as if to say  _suit yourself_ , then busied himself in the dark, painting flashes of light as flames arranged themselves to his desires. With only a wave of his arm, silhouettes would appear: a bunny, which Marco could've sworn winked at him, a crescent coated in red, and a perfect replica of a certain blonde. The last figure bowed to them before disappearing.

"That's not creepy at all." Marco hummed to himself. The striking accuracy could only mean that demon had a habit of conjuring that one often, or something etched on memory. He frowned at the thought.

Tom steered away from the spiral stairwell in favor of floating over the empty space in the middle of the tower.

"This place was built after a few incidents of traitors and thievery. Back then, our history was etched inside onyx stones but they kept getting stolen. Memories passed over rocks." Tom eyed Marco's pocket, where his dimensional scissors lay. "You can't really use that here."

Marco shook off the dread claiming him like a hug from an unwanted stranger, and instead tried to steer the conversation. "Why not?" Marco wasn't sure what to make of that. "And why a tower?"

"Tramorfidian Crystal. Prevents the use of dimensional scissors. And I could just teleport without scissors..."

Marco stepped. But there was nothing underneath to catch him.

Suspended, with his heart jumping out of his chest, a stifled scream crawled its way out as whimpers, while he closed his eyes for the inevitable impact. But it never came.

Warm hands steadied him, as he breathed out, his lungs burning not unlike when he would run. But there was nothing there, no danger, no enemy.

Heart still hammering, Marco grunted out, "I'm fine. Trick step. Give me a moment." He let his heart run its course, his relief palpable when it finally settled into its less marathon like pace.

Marco opened his eyes to Tom's face close- too close. A part of him wanted to laugh it off and shift the demon's hand off his back, and the other one away from his arm. Another part of him just wanted to stare at Tom's too dark, curious gaze.

As if finally satisfied with what he was looking for, Tom broke his gaze away from Marco's and settled his foot further away from the stair's edge. He gestured at the human to move, and Marco found himself complying, albeit a bit slow.

Tom grabbed the human's left hand, making sure he was the one near the open air.

Marco's hand lit up as if it burned. Curiously enough, the same warmth bloomed in his cheeks.

He almost didn't hear Tom's mumble of, "Can't have you falling all over the place," as he led the two of them to the top.

The two reached the landing with awkward shrugs. Tom fumbled with the door, then pushed it lightly. "Now to answer if this erratic shift of magic has happened before." He extinguished their light source and led the way into the historical records of his demonic ancestors.

The first thing that greeted the two was the beaming ceiling. A small dome filled with golden substances lit the room, putting the brightness of normal torches to shame.

Marco blinked a few times to adjust to the light.

"Come on." The demon urged, already inside. "It's in here somewhere."

The archive had a simplistic feel into it. Built into the walls were shelves, which contained books with spines the same with each other. Leather and smooth.

The walls were a different matter altogether. Apart from the two filled shelves encompassing half the room, the other half seemed to hold gems not even entirely buried in the stone. A table was in the center of it all, the material extremely clear, supported by crystal like structure at the bottom.

"Found it!" The demon announced with a pleased smile.

"Great! History. Nothing like the written collection of the mistakes of the past. You got what you needed?"

"It's a book, Diaz. We kinda need to read it before we absorb its information. You should try it sometime."

Marco ran his hand through his hair as he huffed. "Has anyone ever told you that you're-"

"Attractive and charming? Of course."

"Your mom doesn't count. And I was going for insufferable, but I guess delusional works too."

Tom raised an eyebrow at first, but then gave a surprised huff of laughter. Marco rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. The animosity faded from the room, leading their wariness along.

"Reading." Tom gestured back to the book. Marco strolled closer and saw for himself. He allowed himself to sit on a nearby sofa, then brought his legs up as he leaned towards the demon.

The sad excuse for a book lay dormant. It was huge- about half the size of the standing demon and seemed impossible to move. The book lay closed, and on the floor, looked ancient.

Tom traced the cover lightly with his forefinger, going over the harsh etches in front. His eyes glowed white for a moment, assessing, searching for something that only he could read. "It says something along the lines of, Permission is in the blood of blue. Poison corrodes the mind of trespassers."

"Royal blood for entry and corrupts anyone else?" Marco laughed nervously. "Maybe I should sit this one out?"

Tom flipped open a few pages, only to read a passage in a series of soft growls and hiss. The written wasn't helping either- the lexicon and syllabary was foreign.

Marco wondered what does his presence help in this. Perhaps him tagging along was too premature- the demon lacked in research.

"Could you translate?" As much as having to look at the paint less walls provided Marco with a sense of excitement on having his brain cells die out due to the inactivity... "Tom, in English, please?"

"There's no direct words." Tom said, without breaking contact with the book. "I can try, but bear with me here." He cleared his throat. "I will slaughter my squire and sacrifice his blood for you-" Tom paused, them scoffed. "Love letter," he said.

"That's not-" Marco interjected, before biting his tongue. "Sure. Okay. Different species. Customs." The protest died half-way, albeit he's still tempted to remark, _are all your family members psychos and you're actually the sane one?_

His safekid instincts overruled the urge. Self-Preservation: 08, Dying for the sake of being witty: 21. Who's to say his counting was accurate? The numbers steadily flipped between the two ever since joining the occult- err, the eternal friendship between the two magical royals.

"Bloodmoon bond, Ascension, combat to the death," Tom's voice steadily increased. "This is centuries' worth of events." The demon gritted his teeth. "This is gonna take a while."

It wasn’t a dismissal, per se, but Marco could read between the lines. He let his eyes wander around the cavern.

He walked over to the other side of the room, as the demon fussed over the intricacies of being an otherworldly being. Covering half of the room with the exception of the long rows of shelves were gems, which twinkled in the otherwise dullness of the place.

"Memories, huh." Marco muttered to himself as his eyes wandered. Quartz-es, Stones, Gems. All not even embedded deeply into the wall. It would be easy to pull one out, but as of where that thought came from, he didn't know. Curiosity?

Even as he simply tilted his head slightly, their reflected light made them shine in ways that were enticing. Pretty does not cover it. "Calling." He spoke aloud. He blinked, then turned his gaze back to the demon.

Tom's eyes never strayed part from the book. He mumbled to himself, soft enough not to be heard from where Marco stood. A glimmer of red flashed in his peripheral.

Marco fiddled with the scissor in his pocket, and sighed. If he were to be staying for a while, he might as well entertain himself. He turned his attention back into the wall, this time with no hesitation. A pull called out to him- no, there was nothing there, he simply decided to walk.

So he crept closer.

His eye was drawn to one particular stone, one which had a million cuts but never symmetrical. Imperfect with a familiar shade of blood. Not the color of the rose he somehow decided to keep, nor the soft shine of the moon. Something more familiar.

His hand reached ever closer, eyes locked to the crudely cut gem. His mind warned him it may be sharp. His hand wanted to test it for himself.

The surface held a dull edge, but Marco still felt the inherent warning of danger, like that feeling of almost falling for missing a step in a stair. He took a deep breath.

**Static.**

"What are you doing?"

Marco yelped as a shock went through his hand. He promptly turned around with his face searing red. "Standing. I was just standing." His legs wobbled unsteadily below him. He shifted his stance uncomfortably.

"You weren't responding. Are you okay?"

Marco blinked. "I didn't even hear."

"You've been standing there for," Tom tapped his foot to a beat. "Well, I don't think this things gonna help."

“It’s barely been a few minutes-” Marco glanced at the floor, and blinked. The giant book lay still on the floor, opened to more than a half to its pages.

He frowned. The time didn't add up.

The demon gestured helplessly with his hands. "Did you try to..."

Marco thought about his position at the moment. "I wasn't planning anything!" He blurted defensively. “I just thought they looked cool.”

The demon shoved his flailing hands into his pockets. "It's cool, I believe you. Just... I forgot to warn you. These things are off limits to touch. Even to me."

Marco noticed that the demon had a healthy amount of space between him and the jewels.

"Of course!" he said, a little loud, then stepped aside with a nervous laugh. The ache in his legs grew more prominent. His eyes peeked towards the stones again before snapping back in place to the demon making conversation. "But if these things contain your ancestor's memories... wouldn't you like to use it?" _And by extension, hold them?_ he added in his mind.

Tom had a particular look to him, one that had Marco a little nervous. "Well I don't believe it entirely, but it still pays to be a little superstitious. After some of these were stolen, an ancestor of mine was said to curse the remaining ones."

Although the surrounding air still had the heaviness of the Underworld's natural heat, Marco could've sworn that his hands turned icy. "You're not serious."

The other shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Fair warning, though. A relative of mine touched one of these, and he lost his most precious belonging. He's still not over it."

"What was it?" Marco asked, tense.

Completely deadpan, Tom delivered. "His hair."

Marco raised an eyebrow and suppressed the quirk threatening to show on his lips. Probable exaggeration. He unclenched his fist and exhaled loudly. Maybe everything would turn out fine.

Marco strode over to the nearest sofa, and felt only relief. "I think that's balding. And I hear genetics play a part in it. So if your story is real..."

Tom raised an eyebrow, daring the human to continue.

Marco stuck out his tongue, then gave a smug look.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Stuck in the waves of time... forever hairless. Wow, Diaz, thanks for that mental image."

"No problem.” He chirped. “The way you've been spiking your hair makes me think you don't have long. How much product you place in that thing, exactly?"

The demon looked no longer looked amused. He rolled his eyes, the third one unwavering in its judgemental gaze. After what seemed to be contemplation, he stuck his tongue out as well.

The crinkles in Marco's eyes gave away his amusement, even as he tried being nonchalant. His fingers traced the firm cloth of the sofa, where he leaned lower, then yawned.

“You guys get tired so easily.” A casual observation by the demon.

Marco was about to rebut when that statement was followed by soft, smooth strokes to the his hair.

Marco tensed for a moment before slumping over. It was… gentle. The fingers to his hair were foreign, and sent a tingling sensation to his spine, but not unpleasant. His eyelids grew heavy and he stifled another yawn.

He snapped his eyes wide open as the fingers grew more insistent, fingertips digging into his scalp. He was about to protest when he heard the demon speak.

“... stupid. Of course it didn’t work.” A low mumble. “’m so stupid.”

This was clearly not meant to be heard, as Tom recoiled when Marco replied, “No you’re not.”

Tom was at a loss, mouth agape then closing. He snapped it shut after muttering, “I- Marshmallow, I say the stupidest things to my bunny, and-”

“You thought I was your bunny?” Marco didn’t know if he should be offended.

Tom looked like he was the one offended.

“So you have self-deprecating thoughts.” Marco knew he’d read something on this with his Psychology phase, but couldn’t recall it at the moment. “You know, It is _okay_  to fail. To lose, even if you did your best.”

“You sound like Brian.”

“And you’re avoiding your issue.”

Tom shifted his gaze away from Marco. There was a tired lilt to his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“Is there ever a good time that you’d allow?” Marco tilted his head, waiting.

Tom seemed to debate something in his head. He shook his head, then sighed. “Things haven’t been going my way.”

“I think I noticed.” Marco said dryly. “You did try to scratch my head open.”

Tom rolled all eyes.

“So you’re frustrated. By the lack of progress?”

A pause, then Tom slowly shook his head. “Not entirely… I was hoping that this was something my ancestors struggled with. Then we’d just do whatever they did to defeat it the first time.”

“Like a walkthrough?”

“Maybe? Yes, probably. I told you walkthroughs are important! You never did managed to find that final item in that Zelda game.”

“And I told you that it kinda spoils the fun of discovery.” Marco grinned. “I can’t believe you’re actually trying to find a cheat sheet for a real life problem.”

Tom groaned. “Ugh. I resent that. I like History. A massive collection from the trial and error of all of Demonkind’s unfinest moments.”

“Who said life is easy? We just have to do what your ancestor would’ve done in your position. Learn about the opponent then fight.”

“What makes you think my ancestors wouldn’t just charge in without a plan?”

“Well that would be a stupid, stupid act. Considering you’re even here to experience the world tells me your ancestors are smart.”

“Safekid.” Tom intended it an insult, but Marco only grinned.

“Reckless brat.” Marco rebutted. The smug smile told it all, the demon thought it was a compliment.

Marco straightened himself. He settled into his new position, Tom and his shoulders touching with no space in between. “Were you really hoping that this awful turn of events is inflicted to your ancestors?” He asked, in a soft murmur, while he wondered how it would feel to lay his head on the demon’s shoulder.

In an equally quiet voice, Tom replied, “Well it’s better than the alternative.”

Marco hummed, a silent question.

“Someone being powerful enough to strip our defense. And me having no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s not so bad.” Marco yawned. “Now you get to entertain the possibility that something must’ve done that this things might not even come from here, and is attacking from another dimension. Now you get to plan. And win.”

Tom considered his words for a moment, then chuckled low and deep. “Go to sleep, Marco. I’ll bring you back home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've had this chapter up yesterday but our internet. UP TO NOW ITS BEEN HELL, but hey, mobile data still exists. I'm gonna be living off limited searches and actual physical book reading in the meantime. I SEE MORE PEOPLE HAVE BEEN READING THIS. Well, thank you for joining the angst train! Destination is hell, probably, but we already knew that. But seriously thank you for all your support!


	5. Disembark

Blank.

It wasn't just something at the tip of the tongue and out of reach. It plagued her, the sense of something missing, the one lost piece right in the middle of a jigsaw puzzle.

Star sighed. She reached for her small sling bag- one that's shaped like her name, summoned cloudy and sailed through the air.

She steered towards the castle in the sky, a gigantic fortress of clouds. Without any restriction, she strode through the fluff of the doors, intent at her every step.

Without knocking, she opened the door.

"Ponyhead..." She said loudly, the stepped back reflexively, as she barely missed getting gutted by an axe.

Said princess barely lifted her head. Bowls of candy and popcorn surrounded her, with various junkfoods at the side. "Hey Star!" she greeted back. "Could you reattach the axe, please? That's for my sisters if they walk through."

Star raised an eyebrow at the request but waved her wand to fix it.

Ponyhead didn't seem concerned. "What's up?"

Star maneuvered herself through the small piles of clothes and hair accessories on the floor before reaching the bed. She gave her friend a hug then answered. "You didn't forget, right?"

"Forget? Like whaat? Oh no girl, I must've been daydreaming when you called. Is there something..." Ponyhead gestured for her to continue.

Star leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I think there's something wrong with my... thoughts. Maybe you could help me figure it out?"

"Oh, was that today?" Ponyhead shifted, as if burrowing into her hoard of junk foods. "I love you b-fly, but this DRAMA I'm watching finally got a new season! You understand, don't you? Besides, as much as we all know how really brilliant i am, and nobody would ever replace me, and I am the greatest princess that should've been born to rule all of civilization, I need some me time! I promise we'll hang out once I finish watching Dynasty. You know, that show where everyone's trying to backstab everyone? It's really great."

Star glanced at the laptop with the show ready to go, and at all the candy in place. She _could_  guilt Ponyhead to help her, but it wouldn't be as productive if her friend would just complain all the way through.

As Ponyhead didn't immediately shoved her out of the room just yet, Star knew she still had a chance. Good thing she caught her friend before her marathon. "I'll let you get back to your watching, but could I have a small, teensy weensy favor?"

Star decided to appeal to her friend's vanity. "You are the greatest pony in socializing, so maybe you know someone who's... someone who could organize a somewhat confusing mind?"

"A shrink?"

"Maybe not... I'm not insane. At least not yet?"

Ponyhead clicked her tongue. "I know just the person. Good at organizing but has zero potential in greater purposes." She brought out her compact with her tongue. "I'll give him a call and see what he's up to!"

Typing with a tongue shouldn’t be that easy as Ponyhead made it look. The person on the other side responded not long after.

"Mhmm," Ponyhead muttered to the other person on the line. "No, I wasn't the one who destroyed the fog machine. Yes, my name is Ponyhead. Aww, you remembered."

Star could vaguely hear screams.

Ponyhead jutted out her bottom lip. "You can't say that to me! I'm worth than all than your lame jeans! Well those clothes are an affront to the eyes, like yeah, I was doing a service to all of mewmankind-"

She huffed. "Cry me a river, boo. Stop exaggerating, you can just make servants build you a new house. I just threw gasoline on the clothes. Why you blaming me for your house? What even is poverty? You're digging in a mine, right? Just find something valuable like some diamonds or something." She blew a kiss to her compact. "Remember my favorite rock is emerald! Call you again when you stop being a crybaby."

"Ugh, I totally forgot that he's invaluable now." Ponyhead spat out the compact in disgust. "Star, could you grab me that thing? That, paper thing. I swear I could feel an allergic reaction thinking about that nerd thing." She gestured to one of the drawers.

Star slid from the bed and walked. "What was that? I think your person is crying." She rummaged through the pile.

Ponyhead swished her hair. "So you know how killing anyone is okay so long as they attacked first?"

Star paused her search. "Is that a thing now?"

"Yeah. Like defense or whatever. I don't see why he doesn't get that logic! His clothes, totally not designer, attacked my eyes. Like, how was I supposed to know that will burn the surrounding furniture? Anyways, that's the wrong drawer. It's in the left. That lame card thing that losers give out when they can't socialize on their own."

"Card?" Star grasped the edge of a smooth material. "Found it!"

Ponyhead took one glimpse at the number printed on it before tapping into her compact. "It’s ringing.”

Ponyhead made a face at the beeping, but finally the other person picked up. She turned on the charm. “So hey, I was kinda thinking about you. No, I don't want to buy- I'm calling you with a compact! Why would I need-" She turned away from Star. "It's Ponyhead. Stop that! I'm only calling for one thing, my bestie needs someone with basic servant skills. I'm sure you can handle it."

The other person wasn't screaming yet. Star didn't know if she should be amazed.

"Mmkay boo, that's great. Thanks." Ponyhead flipped the compact close then returned to Star with a smug smile. "You're in luck. He's off work now."

"Oh cool! It's kinda a convenient coincidence, though."

"Coincidence... sure." Ponyhead took another look at the compact. "So here's the thing. I personally would not recommend spending more than thirty minutes with that guy, if you don't wanna die of boredom, but yeah, he gets things done. Like, scarily fast. Like a nerd. I still can't believe that I used to think that he's kinda hot."

"You really think he could help?"

"I have great judge of character. Also, just because I dated him doesn't mean he's entirely insane. Now, anyway. He used to be so destructive." Ponyhead sighed, then floated down to her cushions.

Star took a step back. "I'm just gonna.." she gestured towards the exit.

Ponyhead had already glued her eyes to the screen. "Thanks for understanding, Star! Oh damn, a new intro! Also, don't get his hopes up about me, okay? But don't make him think that he isn't in my top 100 list for a rebound. But, like, at the bottom. Boys need to feel uncertain about their place to make them want you!"

"Pony, and I say this with our deepest connection in mind, sometimes, I really don't get you."

"Okay Star, that's sweet. Bye," she drawled out.

* * *

 

"Would you like to take a look at Reflectacorp's newest compacts?"

Star stared blankly at the communicator modeled in front of her. "What? No." She surveyed the inside store and saw nothing of interest; only shelves upon shelves of gadgets, compact and mirrors neatly displayed. Eyes still wandering, she answered, "I have an appointment with someone who was once intimate with a certain flying head?"

"That would be me. How may I help you?"

She couldn't resist giving him a once-over. The shade of purple on his skin was gradient, darker at the top with a much lighter tail. His wide eyes was framed by circular glasses gave no indication of any emotion.

"I was wondering if you will be able to organize a messy mind?"

His customer voice piped up without any hesitation. “Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint. Unfortunately, here at Reflectacorp I deal with physical products and not those of the mind. I’m afraid that I may not be able to give you the assistance that you need.”

“So Ponyhead’s wrong? She said you’ll be able to organize… forget it.” Star summoned cloudy, who lifted her up. Maybe she could suck it up and ask her Mom. “I guess I’ll just go.”

At the mention of Ponyhead, Seahorse seemed to look a bit more lively. “Hold please," he said in his usual customer voice, but a little louder, more firm. Seahorse typed on one of the many laptops in display. After a moment, he rummaged around behind the counter and brought out a cable. “My own capability may not be able to assist you personally, but I may be able to redirect you to your needs.”

Star slid off the cloud. "What do you mean?"

"Reflectacorp's values are to fulfill every desire of the customer. With a little work done, I may be able to use our top Mirror as a portal to the mind."

Star strode back with a lighter bounce. “Couldn’t you have said that in the first place?”

"Honesty is an integral trait as an employee." Still no change in expression. "It would be unethical to mislead a customer."

"... How did you manage to date Ponyhead?" She asked, curious.

Seahorse was already absorbed in his task. He readied the mirror and connected it into the laptop. Then tapped. And typed. Then tapped.

His fins clacked against the keyboard swiftly, as if gliding at will.

Just when Star was considering transporting one Laser Puppy to have something to play with, Seahorse spoke up. “Please walk inside the mirror. I’ve recalibrated it into your destination.”

“So where does it go?” She glanced at the laptop and saw nothing but ones and zeros.

“To your mind.”

”But I’ll be walking inside with my body? Isn’t that a paradox?”

Seahorse blinked. "Your destination will lead you to your answers. Good luck."

Star hesitated at the mirror. "I don't think that this could be helpful. If I had all the answers in me, I wouldn't need help."

"Define help. I see this as an opportunity to tackle your problem head on. What better way to organize the mind than going inside and organizing? If you would like tips on how to properly organize your storage, please do not hesitate to ask."

"My mind's not some company storage room. Or is it?" Star thought for a few moments more, neither comforted nor convinced. "How will I get out?"

"I'll pull you out."

"This doesn't look like a solid plan." Star twirled the wand at her hand. "I'll take it."

Her reflection stared at her, defiant. "What's the worst that could happen, right?" She took one deep breath before allowing herself to step forward.

 

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

... 

 

...

 

... 

 

_“... You’re a princess, Star. Whether you like it or not, you need to be the princess Mewni needs you to be.”_

_“... Lucitor magic is the only thing strong enough to let her escape!”_

_“We can’t risk a war.”_

_“We can’t confront them, then?”_

_“What if they’re in cahoots with that Monster Lover?! I say we raid them immediately! They’ve always been walking the line between monsters, with their demonic features.”_

_“I need to go.”_

_“You’re not supposed to come home.”_

 

..

  

..

 

..

 

 

Voices faded in and out of her ear as she descended, some things she couldn't remember hearing.

She blinked, and she wasn't falling anymore.

Star found herself face to face with... herself. She jerked back in alarm, but the Star in front only copied the movement. She raised a hand slowly, then waved. Her reflection mirrored the action. "Nifty," she said.

She turned to inspect her surroundings. Her mind was bright, the ground a mish mash of flowers. One of the laser puppies ran past her, singing 'I got that sunshine in my pocket, got that good soul in my feet' in an adorable voice.

Star gasped. "That's songs been stuck in my head for weeks! You're the culprit!" She followed the puppy, and noticed that there were more mirrors, others with a crystal finish, while some framed with wood.

She paused her pursuit to inspect one of the mirrors. "Is this supposed to symbolize how I'm vain? Cause I don't think.." She moved to touch it, but she felt nothing even as she knew her finger should have traced it. Her reflection rippled, however, and a scene replaced it.

Inside the mirror was a familiar forest. The world bounced- or was she the one jumping? It sped up, the point of view drinking in the sights of wildlife all around. A gigantic bird ruffled its feathers, the sun shimmered in the clear lake, and beside it, a wild Warnicorn gently lapping up the liquid.

Star gasped as she remembered the feeling, of jumping on the Warnicorn, steering it even as it resisted all the way through just to have it kick open the palace doors. The gasps of her entrance felt the same it had back then, one mewman even fainting at the back. A crystal heart consumed her vision.

Star reached out to touched the scene, to reclaim back the feeling of her first time grabbing the wand that officially became hers.

A sense of Deja vu stopped her hand from reaching in, the force strong enough to gather a tingling sensation in her fingers.

"Do that and you'll be lost forever." Another Star reprimanded her by a tap to her shoulder, but it wasn't a reflection. It didn't _have_  a reflection.

"Who are you?"

The other her seemed to change clothing every few seconds, her dress a royal blue, then an orange onesie, a purple gown. Star found it difficult to stare at her, so she focused on her clone's face- one without cheekmarks.

"I'm Star Butterfly." The clone twirled. "A representation to the abstract concept of thought. I'm you!"

"That does not make sense."

"That's what you get when you mix magic with technology." The clone said, now on top of a cloud.

"What's with all of the mirrors?"

The clone drifted down, headband morphing from red to green, then dropped to the ground to play with a rabbit. "It's a state! Or a statement? Of the mind. You run when you can't face anything, and take things at face value. You show up when you know you're supposed to, but never before."

Star got the urge to pet a bunny. She could imagine it clearly, but wasn't she supposed to do something? She took a deep breath, and mentally chanted to not daydream. "I need to talk. I can fix it, I could be better. But something feels off about me, and I can't be really well, if I'm not feeling myself."

The clone tilted it's head, it's hair twisting itself to different braids. "I'm you. If you believe that, then me too."

The clone floated over the bleachers- have they been there before? And took a seat.

The flowers below wilted into nothingness, and the mind became dark.

A spotlight beamed towards Star, and as she closed her eyes and flailed with surprise, she felt wood in front of her. A podium right in face of the seats.

The clone sat shrouded in the dark, but Star could see the soft shifting it did, cloth growing longer or shorter, warping into several dresses.

“I really have a great imagination.” She said to herself in awe.

 Star grabbed the pink microphone on the podium and blew into it lightly. When it proved it work, she opened her mouth to speak. "When I said I needed to talk things through, this isn't exactly what I meant. Or maybe it is. Or maybe how it should be since I'm thinking of it. Today's been a long day and I didn't expect to be dealing with paradoxes, so here I go."

Star leaned her weight on the podium. "I know that to fix something you have to get all the pieces. So I'm here. I am Star Johansen Butterfly, princess of Mewni. And I am a mess." She chuckled weakly at the admission.

Still, the transparency of it all lifted her spirits, and she continued without preamble. "There's this part of my mind that's been missing, memories. I want them back."

Light returned suddenly as it went out, and when Star had adjusted her vision, her clone was near her, buried under a pile of laser puppies. "They weren't taken."

"But they're not here. In my head. Somethings feels... gone." Star tapped her foot.

"You removed them."

"Why?"

"You removed them."

"Even you can't remember." Star sunk down and scratched the head of a puppy.

The clone snapped it's head up and stared. "Remember?"

Star felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but faced the clone nonetheless. After a moment of thought, (could it even have it's own thoughts?) the clone waved it's hand and came up with a small hand held mirror. The clone offered it to Star, who took it.

Star stared at the small thing and saw another memory.

She saw Marco, glasses on, leafing through the pages of a thick book. "Apparently people remember more if something is associated with an emotion." Marco stared at her, with that look, eyes lit up with his pleasure in learning, "Ever wondered why some things last more than others? It's the feelings, that anchors them to the mind."

Like the other mirror, Star quickly latched on to that present, and could feel Marco's shoulder that she leaned on, the sweet smell of Mr. Diaz's cooking in the kitchen, and the soft sweater that she wore that day.

She drew herself out of that memory, as a surge of deja vu shocked her again. "What-" It took her a while to find the words, "was the point of that?"

"Sometimes the mind forgets, some things remain." Clone drew up another mirror.

This time, it wasn't anything small. It rose from the ground without any trace it had been in the dirt, taller than Star herself.

The clone grabbed Star's arm and thrusted her hand towards the mirror, where she had a spllit second of panic before realizing it hadn't gone through. Instead, she carressed broken glass, fractured pieces that stood as whole. The cracks weren't random, and she found herself reading something spelled in Mewman.

_'Stupid, I can't believe I wasted all that time.. I'm a coward. I broke everything. I already lost... I tried to do right, but it wasn't...'_

Self-deprecating thoughts littered the entire mirror, some of them repeating the same sentiment of beating herself up in thought.

"This is terrible." Star dropped her hand. "But I can't remember, I couldn't feel anything. What happened?"

"You happened." The clone blinked. "You wanted to remove those feelings, and you did."

"But I can't remember..."

"You have to forget to not feel."

When the clone looked her in the eye, it's hair changed again. Roses crowned it's head in braids, with one lone petal carried away by the breeze. "Do you want it back? The memory that hurt you?" The clone moved closer. "Or will you trust yourself and leave it be?"

With her clone close, Star realized that her dress hadn't changed in a while- a dark purple one with a huge hat.

She'd seen that outfit before, from a book? She shook away the thought. "I don't know."

Her clone mirrored disappointment, an expression she'd never been comfortable with. Star looked away. "I have to go."

No sooner have she said the words, she found herself once again staring at laptop displays, on Reflectacorp's Mewnian branch.

 

* * *

 

The door was already open in the darkened tower.

Tom sat sideways on a stair while his legs dangled off the empty space.

Marco crept up the stairs, quietly. Tom didn't acknowledge him as he got close- but then again, he seemed to be focus on the fire he maintained in front.

Shadows bent and passed as the flame- a figure in heat, leaped up in the empty air and spun.

Marco managed to suppress a gasp. It was the Star figure! But unlike the first time he’d seen it,  it didn't simply bow, it moved through the air in an eerie copy of the princess it was modeled after.

Equal parts impressed and unsettled, Marco couldn't help but watch as the figure bounced sprightly into a stance of movements, where she walked in the air as easily as she would on land. The copy twirled with all the grace of a royal- the makeshift hair even swaying at its wake.

While practiced, while meticulous, it captured the spirit of the princess- It danced with a spirited lightness and energy, befitting the firey passion it ironically took form of.

But as easily as it manifested, the whole figure blinked out- a flicker of the light, a blight to beauty, a weakness in power.

Tom shouted in frustration.

Yet it danced on, as if nothing was wrong, as if it's existence wasn't flickering in and out of life like a television losing its signal.

Perhaps it was that one flicker that took so long, too big of a pause, that sent the demon to wave off the haunting image of their friend, and cloaked the tower into an inky black.

"Is this a bad time?" Marco asked. Before he could even blink, red and orange split in front of him, warming his cheeks. It faded instantly, but the faint smell of smoke remained.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "I almost burned your face off. What, _exactly_  are you doing here!?"

"I came to find you." Marco's voice sounded weak.

The demon laughed without humor. "You saw. You could've just waited."

"Tom," Marco ignored the small hold of anxiety over him as he crossed the distance between them. "I'm not judging. I already know," he swallowed, throat dry, "You love her. Even if..." He trailed off.

The minutes ticked by in tense silence.

When Tom finally answered, it was more contained. "You must think it's pathetic that I pine after her so much. Go on, you could laugh."

The casual nature of the admission startled Marco. Maybe it was the cloak of utter darkness, that made the demon more open?

"It's not pathetic." Marco heard himself say, walking closer. "It's feelings, and yes, you take it to levels of creepiness with your obsessive attention to detail- but I don't blame you. She is pretty great."

After a moment, Marco felt something tug his shirt, an invitation. He shrugged and sat next to the demon.

"Shame. That's not what I expected to hear. Do I have to fight you to the death now? I _was_  starting to like you."

"Very mature." Marco said, grinning. His smile fell when the demon turned out to be serious. “You’re not thinking I actually-?”

"I won't hate you for saying it. I just want to be clear. Will you be a rival?"

The thought of Tom being his enemy, someone to fight with, to compete with, was a ridiculous thought. Marco's voice cracked. "What? I have a crush on..." The name Jackie stuck on his throat and refused to come out. "A classmate."

He expected doubt, a few threats, and even teasing, but Tom's reaction was neither. His hand somehow landed on top of Marco's hair.

Marco raised an eyebrow. "No flashing eyes? No demands to strap me in a lie detector? Who are you?" He could practically detect the demon rolling his eyes.

Tom began to pat his hair. "Don't tempt me." He teased, then heaved a sigh. "I would, but it would be hypocritical, would it?. Me hating you for liking the person I like."

"I don't, really. Like her in whatever creepy form you have." Marco protested to deaf ears. "Besides," he added, the tiniest sense of bitterness escaping him, "I don't want to love someone only to have them disappear."

Tom stopped patting his hair for a moment. He resumed timely enough, this time fingers lightly stroking.

Marco forced a laugh at the tense atmosphere. "I could relate, you know. To the hypocrisy."

"Do tell." Tom waited. The other didn't elaborate. "Not fair, Diaz. I shared my thoughts. Whatever happened to the old quid pro quo?"

"It's a dead language." Marco rebutted. "When did you become the judge of fairness? You cheat at Mario Kart."

"You just sucked and didn't want to admit it. Stop changing-" Tom huffed in frustration. "Fine. Keep your stupid hypocritical secrets over there." He dropped his hand from his petting. Marco almost missed it.

"Why'd you come so early, anyway?" Tom shifted in his seat, bumping shoulders with him lightly. "I can't imagine you're all that excited to walk to what may be a trap."

"I can't imagine that you're not excited." Marco said. "Demon prince saving the underworld? You'd be a hero."

"You didn't answer the question, Diaz. And no, I'm not as excited as you think I should be."

"You're scared?" Marco blurted. He definitely didn't imagine the glare in the dark.

"You're still not answering."

"Fine.” Marco crossed his arms. “I snuck out. My parents don't like me going out to another dimension. And I don't like their faces when I leave."

"Not that I'm judging," Tom said, ignoring the doubt emanating from the other, "But why leave at all? Parents usually know better..."

"You were tired out of your mind but you chose me to help you." Tom would never know how much Marco enjoyed feeling useful. He would make sure of it. "I've gathered information, pretty sure I've made a few enemies, and got sliced open by a plastic warrior. The only thing I haven't finished yet is that... stupid transcribing. I'm pretty sure it's too late to back out now."

"Is that what you think?" Tom tsked. "You could still walk away, and I won't stop you. Aside from the one kidnapping I'm not keeping you here against your will. You do know that, right?"

"One?" Marco scoffed teasingly, then sighed. "I know that. I don't feel threatened to do this. And," his voice dropped to a whisper, "Maybe I want something out of this, too."

Under the cloak of darkness, Tom smiled. "Figures."

"Hey!" Marco hit him on the arm lightly. "I'm not gonna force you or anything. But if you're feeling grateful to this particular helper you've bossed around since the beginning-" Marco shot a glare at where the demon should be, who had hit his arm not as lightly, "Ow."

"You've had worse." Tom shrugged innocently.

"Still. Rude."

Tom barked a laugh. "I give. Lay it on me."

Marco shook his head, then remembered the other won't see. "I can't tell you."

"Now who's being unfair?"

"I plead the fifth."

"What?"

"I have the right to remain silent."

"Marco..."

"It's not so much as an ulterior motive. It could be a favor."

"I could respect that. Being secretive. Even if it gets annoying," Tom ended as a mumble to himself. "I'll do it." He announced, louder with conviction. "Eye for an eye." He stretched his arms.

"That's more of a saying for revenge."

"Nerd." Tom said, yet with no malice. He snorted and stood, finally lighting up the room. "You ready for our final battle?"

Marco blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Sure."

"Then let's go." Tom offered him a hand.

"What, right now?"

"You're the one who decided to come early."

Marco gave him an unimpressed look, but grabbed the hand as he stood.

And if he didn't bother to let go right after, well, the demon didn't complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dumbass actually forgot that I can write this thing the way I want it. So this is my humble offering of the thing I want to write and share with you lovely readers. IN OTHER NEWS, WE'RE ALMOST AT 100 KUDOS (99 as of posting this). To everyone who've enjoyed so far, thank you!


	6. In theory...

Tom yawned for the third time.

For all his bravado, they certainly don't look like a threat any more than the soft piece of parchment that contained their map.

But of course, as a general rule, looks tend to be deceiving, and you might've never known that that exact piece of parchment had been poisoned, had it not been pointed out. With a single touch, it would be enough to send someone to send someone into an early grave.

That goes for its holders, as well.

Traveling up front, with eyes rotating between the scenery and said map, was a human. Both an oddity in and out of his world, he look fairly normal. Even underneath that comfortable light shirt foregoing any past or present attachment to hoodies in account for the Underworld's natural domain of heated... well, everything, he didn't look more than the human he was. But he'd experience a life greater than the one his parents have had, in terms of adventures, even if one might argue that life itself is an adventure. Semantics.

Small and lean, a demon followed with sluggish movements. Where people would usually associate green and red for violence or evil, his purple falters in that department. Some might even admit to finding him attractive, with eyes that flared white and crimson, to his wardrobe, which he'd proudly admit was mostly picked by his mother. Yet beneath that over worldly appeal of alien appearances, was the demon inside him as well, with the ability to incinerate someone alive with just stare, leaving no trace behind of his victim, aside from the few dark scorches left behind by the burns. A feat, which happens more than enough, determined that in the past at least, a demon who suffered from anger issues.

"As much as this hike is great and all," Marco began with a huff, "wouldn't it be easier if we teleport?"

He supposed he should've expected the heat that always enclosed him in the Underworld- oppressing, heavy, with a forecast of sweat of his skin. Even the prospect of adventure faded in the first few minutes that they descended lower and lower, through foot, the soul rise seeming to drag the temperature along with it.

Marco focused his attention to the open world in front of him but didn't waver. Truth be told, he didn't anticipate the trek taking longer than a few minutes- the map toward their destination seemed closer on paper.

The look the demon gave as a response somehow conveyed both a question and accusation,  _'you're kidding, right? have you not been following?'_

But he could tell the demon wasn't really that into it, either. So why bother when they both could take a small shortcut?

Tom yawned for the fourth time.

Marco leaped over a stray boulder, swinging his body with ease. A small thrill overtook him- maybe all the walking wasn't so bad?

A crack, and a weight thumped heavily on the ground.

Tom muffled a groan and bit his lip.

Marco turned and saw the demon hunched over, one knee pressed against the soil and the other on his chest. His eyes were pressed tightly together, and Marco hastened to join him.

A fresh wave of smoke infiltrated his nose, and he scanned for danger, but lo, the only thing remotely different was the scorch marks encircling the demon.

No, trailed from the demon.

As if he could feel the concern emanating from the other, the demon stared stubbornly at the ground. "I'm fine."

Marco scoffed. "Really."

Tom knew Marco would be difficult, always with those prying eyes and useless determination for truth. He knew he would have to bring the matter up eventually, but a part of him wanted for Marco to drag the truth inch by inch from his throat, through gritted teeth, until there's nothing left to discover. All the while feeding into the festering hatred inside him.

He can't not have Marco now. Not after their entire montage of getting ready, so much preparation, so much coaxing until the human relented. Because as far as Tom knew, the human was still onboard, and any resistance might as well be handing over the kingdom to their adversary.

_Any resistance_.

"Trust me?" He urged quietly, cradling the other's gaze with an expression he himself did not recognize, cause desperation breeds certain deliverance, right?

 

He knew how the conversation would go otherwise, if the  _truth_  (a funny word, easily tampered but with only one value) somehow slipped past his pointed teeth:

He would admit, "It's not working." Softly, quietly, until Marco would ask him to clarify; He won't, not that easily.

"Well you got your answer, all right? With magic on the fritz by whatever the hell's messing stuff in here, well I'm affected too. It's getting worse."

Would Marco look confused? Would he attempt to comfort with, "Tom, it's not the end of the world."

For Prince Thomas Lucitor who lived in the Underworld, it might as well be the end. He would shake his head. "That's not it." Followed by, "At first it was just annoying, isn't it? With removal from the natural balance and what might be unrelated spike in the reports of break ins. But it's really not. At least, something's changed."

Sweetly, softly, like someone else he knew, Marco would ask, "Why didn't you tell me?" But unlike her, there would be no judgment. No, at this point Marco would know him well enough (the part of him that he presents, anyway), trust him enough to think that he wouldn't have any ill intention.

Would Marco offer up his eyes, brown ones that capture the shade of chocolates so easily? Would he stare up underneath those lashes, a perfect picture of submission as he says, "It's not gonna scare me. Just tell me what's going on."

Oh, but it would.

He would deflect, "It's nothing."

Marco would parry, "You don't really think I believe that."

A standoff in stubbornness. One that Tom would lose.

Frustrated, and perhaps a little miffed, he would spill, as white glowed from his eyes, "Alright fine!" Perhaps he would be a little dramatic and show off, throw his hands to the side and letting an innocent plant to disintegrate underneath his flames.

His hands would quiver with nothing to draw back his heat, and he would grab his hair to prevent anything else. Softly, quietly, "I can't control it, Marco."

He would sigh. "Teleporting... I don't want to take the risk that I'll cook you alive."

Tom knew that Marco knew that Tom would be hiding something. But would he tell? Would Marco push?

What would happen if, and when...

But would it matter in this timeline?

Because this conversation never happened, didn't it? There was nothing to instill distrust, nothing that would urge something in the back of his mind, a nugget of secret that might otherwise destroy both of them.

 

Does he trust the demon? Marco shouldn't have answered so quickly, and without thought. "Yes."

Relief poured over the demon and he slumped forward, barely catching himself as he inched to the ground.

Genuine, or teasing, Marco held out a hand and helped the demon up, who proceeded to flash him a grin that was too happy- contagious.

He kept the warmth that bloomed inside him show outside in minimum, only a bare twitch of the lips.

The trek was endless- and dull, but this time, Marco didn't complain. He swore to help, and he would. He wondered how a simple touch from the demon- a small squeeze to the palm- was enough to make him feel light-headed.

He decided it didn't matter.

When they've finished following the map to as far as it could take them- the edge of the underworld, where outsiders could sneak in without a portal- it only took a nod from the demon for Marco to understand what he was getting at.

Not permission, not reminder, but perhaps just a silent,  _you got this and I believe in you._

A flush of pride invaded his senses. He knew it was stupid to feel that way, of course he got it. He's been trained for it.

He shook away his pointless wanderings and closed his eyes.

A small shifting of cosmos. Gravity unfeeling. Something that didn't belong.

Danger in familiarity.

He swallowed down the bile that rose without his permission.

Not that he'd admit it out loud, but he hoped everything would be over soon.

* * *

"Stay still."

Purple fingers lightly steered Marco's face from turning around. "What are you-"

From behind, Tom carefully affixed a blindfold on him, with enough tightness to not fall but not to hurt.

Marco swallowed, as the fleeting softness of the demon's touch didn't fade as quickly as it should. He could sense the demon shifting- away from him? To appraise him? Through the quiet crunches of the soil beneath them. Marco said, "Have I said I'm concerned? Because I am."

It was increasingly unfair how the demon seemed to keep his cool at all times. "Don't be dramatic," he murmured.

"You're the one that keeps tying me up. Who's dramatic?"

"I'm not gonna deny that my methods are a little unconventional-"

"Understatement, Tom." he replied with a lilt, but he didn't move to remove it.

"Hey, I'm not the one that agreed to become a glorified butler. The many nuisances of etymology."

Marco sighed loudly. The demon wouldn't take advantage of him, he knew. Might as well just go along with the setup.

"You know how you could almost never feel air, right? Just when you feel a breeze, or something along those lines."

"Then?" Marco crossed his arms.

"Our... well, magic users can't feel magic as air, even with breezes. It's just there, a constant, kind of like the way you know how your hair is there but you never really feel it until someone pulls at you." A new shift in step, a little more gleeful. "So in theory, let's consider that hair is the magic here. A constant, a part of a magic user's body."

"In theory." Marco repeated.

"Yes. And you should be the breeze!"

"Did you get metaphors mixed up again? It's a little convoluted."

Tom sighed, a little further than Marco had thought prior. "What I'm saying is, we're gonna try if you could sense the thing that's natural to us users."

"Right. Cause humans are totally equipped with that."

"Just try?" Marco could almost feel the puppy dog eyes sent to his way. He groaned loudly- a clear  _fine, whatever._

The demon elaborated, "You're going to try to feel something different in your surroundings, maybe a pull, or a pulse- well, what harm could it do, right?"

"And the blindfold?" Marco asked dryly.

"To prevent distractions, cheating, and so misguided attempts?"

"I have other senses too, you know. Maybe you want to close off my ears and block off my nose. If you're so concerned about me finding something that's not there..."

"Well I wasn't going to paralyze you and use your unfeeling body as some sort of beacon." Tom said, sounding appalled. The outrage rang fake in Marco's ears. Sure enough, Tom continued, "That's interesting though, I might search for it later," he ended in a mumble.

Soft crunches on the soil. The soft woof of air in a newly opened fire made him look up.

"I just lit a torch nearby. Could you find it? Or even me?"

The red cloth in front of his eyes weren't all that great in covering up light so Marco just closed them. It'll help him focus more, anyway.

Marco flailed his hands as he walked forward, inching himself to nothing, just to situate himself with the loss of sight.

"Where am I?"

"Nowhere that I could see, that's for sure." Marco mumbled to himself.

While being utterly invested at first, it just felt stupid the longer it got on. A part of him wondered if the whole thing would just devolve into a twisted version of Marco Polo. Which is something he'd be strictly against.

Nothing. No shift in the air, no movement.

What was he waiting for? Or was he even supposed to wait? Is he supposed to wander off blind, on the off chance that the demon would find him before he does something potentially dangerous?

It was too quiet. Even the normal crackles of the torches seemed awfully subdued, as if following the command of their master.

He exhaled, too slowly, feeling his own heart thrum faster. He blinked at the red, red,  _too red_  and felt his hands itch at the thought of removing them.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the ground procuring a lovely screech of soil that somehow reminded him of the beach.

He once again closed his eyes, the red turned darker, and followed nothing.

He walked, the heat beside him, inside him, following him, that enclosed him from every side.

He clicked his tongue, thinking for a moment that it would be the perfect time to hum.

A blind man searching for colors, he stumbled slightly, fingers grasping the soft velvet of what might be a seat.

Suddenly he was transported to the carriage, of simple times dancing along to Love Sentence. And while he relates to their music in a spiritual level- a great feat, considering he wasn't all that religious- he couldn't find it within him to declare he would find their music at the moment any endearing.

Of love, of memories, of feelings?

Not today.

Marco took a deep breath and feared for the worst. "I'm not sensing anything."

"Try harder?" Tom's voice was low, not near. "I'm floating now. Could you find where I'll go? I'll stay quiet until you get here."

Marco balanced on his feet, then tried to empty his mind.

He knew he'd never done it before. He was never one to detect magic.

He had no experience of that!

Or did he?

A shift in the air, perhaps?

A sudden change in colors, a heaviness at his feet?

Inhale. Exhale.

Colors swirled underneath his closed lids. But nothing to signify anything weird, out of the ordinary.

Perhaps there was no merit to the theory after all.

"Tom, I don't think this is gonna work," he admitted.

Sand crunching beneath, a soft landing of body.

Marco sighed in relief.

A gut wrenching, heart falling- no, there was just something wrong, Wrong, WRONG-

A familiar sensation- when had he felt it before?

It was the split second after touching a heated plate from the microwave.

It was staring at a poem and frustration at the synonym.

It was the creeping clutches of anxiety as a horror movie's music began to rise.

All of it, and it was behind him.

He ripped the blindfold out of his eyes, his heart thrumming as his feet shifted into his fighting stance, hands raised in both offence and defense.

He stared at a ball of flame from behind him, dancing erratically, without form or purpose. There was something different there, and he was struck- with as much as care as someone handling a bomb would, there was something inside him that wanted to-

"Marco," A soft voice snapped him out of his trance, and he turned back to the demon, "How did you..."

Marco must've looked confused, but the demon didn't clarify, he only made things a little bit puzzling.

"Was there any trigger?"

His mind snapped to guns immediately, a picture of early childhood show where the main character would try to kill a mouse using any means possible. "I don't think there's a gun..."

The sense he'd felt grew greater as the demon walked closer. "I don't think it's a flux, either."

At once, Marco's tenseness faded, hands falling into his sides, spine a little hunched. He breathed a little easier, but he didn't know why.

"You  _could_  feel it." His voice, full of wonder, filled Marco with a blush that he couldn't explain.

"Well now that we're good and all..." Marco said, "This means we're done, right?"

For reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint, a devious smile split across the demon's face. "Oh Marco... this is only the beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you feel my writing style fluctuate? Yeah, me too.  
> I would've updated sooner but my lovely tumblr friend decided to drag me down the pit of homestuck.  
> now i'm learning what hatelove is and its giving me a lot of ideas. god help this fic.  
> also: im really outing my kinks to the internet, huh


	7. Winning the Battle

For being the outscape of the Underworld, there seemed to be an abundant amount of liquid everywhere.

The first thing Tom noticed was the light spray of water on his skin, soft prickles making the whole area damp.

He mentally lamented the mud on his shoes with a sigh.

Behind him, Marco followed as he fidgeted with his hands, blinking up at the sky.

The two shared a look. With a small tilt of his head, Tom gestured to Marco he would explore on front, to which the human replied with a thumbs up and a faint look of relief.

Losing any pretense of needing to walk, he let himself levitate, floating a few inches off the ground as he glided towards his surroundings, trying to find a clue.

Footprints would be near impossible to find, if they even were there to begin with.

A humongous arachnid seemed to eye him as he flew past, and he shuddered, mentally deciding to avoid any and all webs.

With his weight lifted easily, he wandered fast.

There should be something there. There should be.

They've been mapping out the times where the intruder would strike. They wouldn't just decide to stop, would they?

With his mind elsewhere, traveling even faster than he was, he didn’t realize how long he’d been gone.

The water, the eerie silence- it was calming.

Then it grew louder.

Pitter platters of rain began to fall heavier, even as the atmosphere never signaled any change. The quiet cacophony of drips turned into something harsher. Loud and bitter, the wind picked up and brought down its fury.

Within moments, he was drenched; his hair losing its styled spike as his shirt clung to his body.

The water was rising. The mudded landscape began to fill out like a swamp.

Tom sighed.

It would be near impossible to find anything at this rate; where there aren’t prints, only unfamiliar grounds.

The next best thing would be to guard the entrance of this world to the Underworld, than scouting their assailant in a land that they don't even know.

Tom straightened his hair somewhat, and wiped- while futile- his face.

He doubled back to where he came from, the landscape not giving him any hints. Didn't he pass that red shrub earlier? Twice now?

He rose higher from the ground, three eyes scanning in unison.

How long had he been flying?

He drew himself up higher, past the tree line.

Branches and mud surrounded him.

He couldn't spot anything familiar.

* * *

Loudly, deeply, Marco exhaled.

Tom had scouted ahead, leaving him to his own devices.

He scratched lightly at his palm, both of which are beginning to feel itchy.

Droplets fell from the sky in a harmonious manner, despite the sky being clear of clouds.

He shivered at the dampness of the air, hands itching for their usual solace at his hoodie's front pocket, which unfortunately, was something he wasn't wearing right now.

The shade of the universal constant of plant life beckoned towards him, and he rushed underneath it.

Marco climbed on top of a tree and rested his back on the bark, the branches thick enough that he was fairly certain he wouldn't get soaked at this rate.

His nails dug into his palms as he slipped into thought.

_Glorified butler_... and maybe he was.

He frowned and bit his lip. It worried him, and perhaps it shouldn't but the familiar feeling of dread hung at him, even after he'd finished tapping into that instinct.

In another life, he might've hung back quietly in the same setting as this, and fight to keep his eyes open as the pitter patter of natural fluid calmed him. But right at the moment, all he could muster from inside him was the heavy feeling of gloom.

He'd always wondered why he had always had the penchant for seeing danger. Perhaps this played as well as Tom used his abilities to become a magic detector? He certainly didn't know the specifics.

All he knew, or at least, all he needed to know was that he was able to sense were reality was altered, the inherent wrongness setting up alarm inside, where his gut screamed at him _danger_.

Maybe he really does warrant the Safekid title.

He exhaled loudly, the action doing nothing for the heaviness within.

He could understand that maybe he had a more advanced version of the fight or flight reflexes than the norm, but why would the feeling still fester without any danger?

Was it the repeated exposure?

All the time while the demon tested his abilities, after he logically knew the danger has passed, i.e. Tom vanishing his fire, or at least the ones he'd summoned with the intent of harm, his heart would be back to a slower pace, breathe a little more steady and his chest a little lighter.

Was he affected now, in ways that they've never really knew for his unprecedented ability, some kind of side effect? The feeling of wrongness that he always knew to avoid as soon as his body acted up, now permanently ruined by the way he'd been actively seeking it?

He exhaled. Overthinking wasn't really helping. He rubbed his hands together as a chill ran through him, the breeze picking up and enclosing him easily.

Marco shifted his head to a more comfortable position.

A flash of purple in his swept in his periphery, and his eyes scanned the distance.

The wilderness was quiet as ever, save from the drip-drip-drip as droplets fell lightly from above to the ground.

He raised a hand up to shake the dampness out of his hair- he paused.

From the limited knowledge he'd had, turning a different shade and popping a petal-like cocoon was normal for Mewmans.

For Humans, it's a different story.  Human hands don’t just spontaneously burst into an angry shade of red, vibrant enough in his brown skin.

As if only now falling under the pretense of the weirdness of his state, he was aware, suddenly, that his appendages were numb, heavy, and still very itchy.

He flexed his fingers, both too stiff, and tried to form a fist.

Bile rose to his mouth as he couldn't.

This was something else, and it didn't feel right.

His head was light, too light, and body nauseous. Everything a blur.

The world tilted, and he was falling.

* * *

The silence was getting concerning. Tom yelled louder, "Marco?!"

When he caught sight of a string of white, he didn't hesitate and flew in despite earlier promises of avoiding arachnids. The webs were his saving grace- he finally found it, back at the entrance.

But someone was already there.

A purple umbrella was shielding someone, kneeling in the distance as a body lay rest among the mud.

Tom rushed over.

A lady was poking Marco's cheeks.

Tom's landing was by no means loud; still, it caught the attention of the female near his friend.

The lady stood up, careful to still shield the human from the rain. She appraised the demon with a look. "Oh dear, this is embarrassing." She said, donning a peculiar accent.

Tom didn't lower his guard. He didn't make any movements, just silently watched her. Spades stuck out on her cheeks, the purple darker than her garb, a Mewnian.

If she found it odd that he wasn't particularly forthcoming, well, she didn't complain. She struck up a conversation, normally, pleasantly, as chatting with an old friend.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. I thought for sure the prince of the Underworld would be a lot more... interesting. Well, you could have inherited your looks from your father lone, but I see that's not the case."

An internal war waged inside of Tom. A calm descended on him, too struck to move.

The lady never seemed to lose her smile. "This is much better. Considering you're conscious and all, maybe you'd like a trade?"

"You thought I was..." The words died on his throat as their significance faded. The human looked... sick.  And he’d left him. "What did you do?" The words didn't sound like him. Too detached. Too cold.

Marco wasn't supposed to get _hurt_.

The lady didn't seem at all affected by his sudden change in mood. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She shouldn't be amused.

It was instantaneous as a flipped switch. Burning, suffocating, Tom's eyes lit up on their own. His heart pushed its way to its limits, pounding up until heat seared on his cheeks. A desperate snarl tore against his throat.

With nothing more than a silent thought, the surrounding water faded into nothing more than vapor, leaving a soft hiss in its wake. A familiar heat pressed against him, and he brought it up higher, until the woman in front couldn't deny his presence.

The Mewman took one step back in surprise, then tightened her grip on the umbrella and pointed at him. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

Tom didn't waste a second.

_Apprehend_ , his mind supplied to him.

She dodged one of the many columns he sprouted, the dance of red and yellow grounding him like nothing else could.

His chest was heavy with the rage that burned within, but he was in no way restrained.

He stalked forward, while she levitated and dodged.

She countered every blast he sent to her, sweeping them away with the flick of her wand.

Any attempt she made at conversation was met with his power.

It would be easy, so _easy_ to burn where she stood.

But she may be the only who could reverse whatever it is with Marco.

The pull of flames to existence was as natural to him as breathing.

So he pulled, and created, encircling the Mewman who flitted upwards.

She blew them off with a spell.

Tom raised his hands and pushed a continuous stream, heat licking through the air as the flames crackled. His efforts were in vain as it simply split in the wake of her bubble shield.

Changing tactics, he gathered his flames on top of the bubble and pushed. The force was enough to rocket her back to the ground, her shield still in place.

For the first time, her smugness gave way to something quite undecipherable as she stared at him through fallen knees.

Tom enveloped the shield with flames, leaving no space to even see the inside.

Red tinted the edge of his vision.

How long until she'd beg for his mercy?

How long until she'd concede defeat?

Perhaps long enough that she wouldn't even be alive to do it.

The Mewman screamed; not the reaction he'd wanted, but a reaction nonetheless.

" _Enough_."

The bubble exploded.

The blow came from nowhere, knocking him to the ground as he grabbed his head. His back hit the ground _hard_.

One after the other, drop after drop, the rain resumed as if there was nothing that prevented them in the first place. The place cool enough that the water didn't dissolve before even touching the ground.

The haze, the dark tendrils of hatred lingered, but his eyes cleared up from their milky filter. All that's left was a sharp throbbing pain on his head, one that he tried to ignore as he rose unsteadily to sit.

"Enough." She repeated, and Tom snapped his head to stare.

Her hair fell limp on her shoulders, a far cry from the curly updo she'd had earlier. She was breathing heavily, savoring each inhale.

The umbrella pointed at Marco.

Before he could even blink, a spell hit the human at the chest, a long gash of purple that had him gasping out loud.

* * *

The hellish wet desert that surrounded him fizzled like an old TV that had poor signal. His head pounded and couldn't understand. Marco took a step back and slipped, landing him on the cool floor that appeared out of nowhere- or was it always there and he never knew? He couldn't even remember standing.

His skin itched and a part of him wanted to claw it right off. Safe. Nothing in this place felt safe.

He swept his head sideways, terror gripping him deep as he noticed the _walls_ ; were they there in the first place? Was anything real? Someone shouted something. But Marco could hardly focus. If the wall could appear magically, what's to stop it from constricting and crushing him whole?

"Why? What's going _on_? I-" He muttered to himself. Or did he speak at all out loud?

Air rushed out of his chest like they couldn't get out fast enough. The only thing he could see was the dark, black, inky abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. In the distance, three red orbs whooshed in and out of existence. His ears could hear his own heartbeat, galloping faster and faster and he couldn't _breathe_ -

"Fine! We'll talk." Stifled, enraged, but compliant. The voice was not his own- why was it familiar?

Air in. Air out. Slower. He's okay. The terror released his grip. Marco closed his eyes. Nausea swept over him in tsunami waves, and he shuddered- immediately with regrets as the movement caused the  nausea to be accompanied with a storm headache.

The cold pressed against his back. Not imagined then. He really was laid down on the ground, a confused mess.

Someone was groaning. A horrible, horrible sound that tore through the walls and echoed. Marco gasped. When air passed through his mouth, it was then that he realized that it might have been him.

"-wasn't me! You mean to say-"

"-help him. Please."

He felt his eyes sprung open. He stared, unblinkingly, to the sky above him. The world had a creamy quality to it. As if he saw through light tinted glasses. The piercing pain in his head didn't help matters. The walls were still there, but they didn't anymore present the idea of crushing him inside.

He bit his tongue in an effort to keep his focus. His body felt fairly normal now, but the world around him was still dulled.

He would rather sleep.

So he did.

* * *

"So how did you find me?" Still too chipper, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather, the Mewman knelt beside the human.

Tom was tired. His moodswings was going to be the death of him, he just knew it. Why did he drag his best friend into this?

"Dimensional scissors are heavily monitored by the Magical High Commission, so it couldn't just be anyone. It can't be an ancestral feud or enemy; or there would’ve been records of it."

"Thrilling." It annoyed Tom how genuine she sounded. She continued, "Although I don't see how that connects?"

"Marco figured it out." He muttered, as flat as he could. "There are only a few ways to enter the Underworld without scissors. Teleportation through fire, which is made flimsy by your doing, so it can't be that, or the tunnels underneath Mewni, a bridge between dimensions by... well. It doesn't matter. Looks like we guessed right."

"Well, in my defense, your tunnels weren't all that hard to find. Or maybe because I have an affinity for them? I've had some installed in the Mewni castle, myself."

"What do you want?" Tom wasn't even trying anymore. The woman had a battalion in her hand in the shape of a household object. At least, no one would say that he didn't put his all when he fought the magic user. Who uses an umbrella to fight, anyway?

A groan effectively paused the topic as they both observed the human.

"Is he your servant?"

"He's a friend."

"That's even worse, isn't it?" She didn't clarify. "I do admit it was a low blow to use him-"

"Understatement." Tom held back the fire itching to get out.

"Yet you wouldn't have heard me out otherwise." She grabbed Marco's arm and examined it, as her eyebrows drew together. "Seems he was suffering through it already. Had he touched anything out of the ordinary? A cursed eye, a splinter of a spellbound mirror? Or anything in that effect?"

"I don't know." He mulled. "He's just carrying a piece of paper all day. Some map we scrounged out. That couldn't be it, I'm fine aren't I?"

"He's not a demon." She gave him a look.

Tom resented that. Guilt weighed down on him, and he couldn't even disagree. He bit his tongue. "You're one to talk. You still haven't removed that one last spell. Sure, you've stopped zapping him with your purple beams-"

"I needed you to listen. And you wouldn't stop." She said, matter-of-factly. "Now as for this thing ailing his arms, I wasn't the one who poisoned him."

"I didn't." Tom said defensively.

"Now, if you ever want me to remove that deep sleep spell, you'd simply agree to my terms."

Tom laughed, but it was without humor. "Blackmail. And they say demons are devious?" His smile might just be filled with amusement, yet he was anything but. "What do you want?"

"Everyone wants something. It might be as simple as a glass of water but we all do. And I want," she sat up a little straighter, somehow looking regal through her disheveled look, "is your birthright."

It took him a moment to process the request. "What birthright, the throne? I can't just..." His parents would kill him. Or at the very worst, be _disappointed_.

The woman hummed. "That would be interesting to test, wouldn't it? If I could somehow alter reality to where I would be the heir. The _daughter_ of King Dave and Queen Wrathmelior." She laughed, as if the very idea was absurd. "But as it stands, that's not what I want."

Tom didn't have to ask twice. His look of _get on with it_ seemed enough.

"I want the fire in your blood." She shifted her gaze and stared up. Her voice never wavered. "The control, the power. I've tried removing it from other demons, but really, it's useless when taken. Certainly I've experimented."

Tom felt his stomach turn. He was suddenly glad she wasn't staring at him at the moment.

"Futile, of course. I do believe that I have more questions than answers. Is it that magic would die as soon as the host channeling it is destroyed? That demons couldn't live without the fire within them?"

Tom drew his legs to his chest, hugging them tightly. "I'm not here for philosophy. What makes you think mine's different?"

"Half Mewman, and half demon." She turned back to face him. "You're my best shot."

" _For what_?"

"Freedom." She turned her piercing gaze on him. "So? What'll it be?"

"I need to think." He grabbed his hair and pulled, the pain grounding him.

"He won't have the time."

Tom refused to look at Marco. The longer he goes untreated...

"And you'll stop?" Tom asked quietly. "With all the terorizing you've been doing? You'll remove it?"

"I swear it."

"Then I'll..." He didn't meant to pause. Yet the words resisted. _Everything would go back to normal_ , his mind lulled, _it'll be like nothing ever happened_. Why was he hesitating in the cure-all? _Selfish_. His hands slid from his hair, a sudden heaviness at his chest. _Too good to be true_. He inhaled sharply. "I'll do it."

She didn't waste any time. "Good answer."

She brandished her umbrella and uttered a spell, too quickly for Tom to follow.

The blast hit him straight to his chest, with enough force that if he was, at the moment, not sitting down, well, he might've fallen over.

His nerves burned with electricity- but he couldn't move. He was lighter, a hollow ache inside him, and he kept gasping, willing the air to give back what's his.

It was over within the minute.

She flexed her fingers daintily, and a small light followed, the tiny burn of a lit candle.

She sighed. "It's been a pleasure, Prince Lucitor. But I'm afraid time's running out for me as well."

The umbrella's begun to fizzle into smoke as the rain on the dimension let up. Their version of soulrise, perhaps?

She chanted another spell and pointed to the human, umbrella thrust backward as if mimicking a lasso, or drawing out the ailment.

"I hope you save him now." She said carefully, before once more brandishing her wand.

With another swipe, the two disappeared, just in time as the wand- a fickle thing, a burrowed copy, once again, faded into smoke- for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if this fic reveals more of my thinking style than my writing style  
> fighting scenes are the absolute bane of my existence  
> \- .... ..- ... - .... .- - .-- .-. .- .--. ... ..- .--. .- -.-. - --- -. . --- ..-. - .... . ... - --- .-. -.--


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